50 miles, 13K of climbing, 15K of descending, 100+ degree heat
This weekend I shared what can only be described as an EPIC ADVENTURE on the trails with some of my best friends. Despite 100+ degree heat, undersupplied aid stations, questionable race directorship decisions, and nearly 14 hours on the trail, I had an absolute blast. Man, I love this sport (and the people in it!)
So I originally signed up for the Encounters Overlook 100K with Meredith, Mark, and Levi. This, I figured, would be the closest I’d get to the Western States 100 course. Well, life intervened, and gave me a shot at the ACTUAL WS 100. The only problem was that the qualifying race was in early October, only a month out from Encounters. Bollocks. So I made the slightly unhinged decision to keep Overlook on my calendar (bad idea) but actually dropped down to the 50 mile (good idea)
Pop quiz: why was I so set on running this race?
B. It’s still an awesome way to see the Western States 100 course
C. It would be one last big training stimulus before taper
D. I’m more than slightly unhinged
E. All of the above
Spoiler alert: it’s E.
The lead up to the race was just fine. We showed up at the finish line and rode a school bus to the start in the sleepy little town of Forest Hill (prominently figured in such fine films as Unbreakable: the Western States 100) The field was tiny! Between the 50m and the 100k, there were only about 50-70 runners at the start. Ann emerged with a loudspeaker, told us to conserve our quads on the downhills and carry plenty of water, and before long we were off.
It was a pleasant 60 or so outside, and we headed down the road, headlamps bobbing. The first 20 miles we kept intentionally casual since there were some monster climbs AND monster descents. Our first frustration of the day was realizing that a lot of the initial descent were too steep and/or technical to run down, so we’d have to expend energy and time navigating down carefully. That being said, we were in a fine mood through Michigan Bluff while the sun was rising and a gorgeous vista was coming into view around us. Even the climbing wasn’t too bad. It was steady and steep, but we made a conscious effort to rein things in.
After a 20 mile warmup, we were back where we started. We resupplied and moved on, but the wheels started to come off. It was a staggering 9 miles to the next aid station. Yes, there was some downhill, but there was significant climbing. On top of that, the temperature was steadily climbing too. In a few hours, it would top out at above 100. We started to feel it about 4 miles in. There were climbs which were completely exposed through soft dirt that was thrown into the air with every step. There was a huge amount of radiant heat coming directly from the sun, but the ground also became an excellent reflector for the heat. We were baking! When a hot wind started up, we were convection baking. It was awful; you couldn’t feel yourself sweating because it would just wick away instantly into the wind. All you could feel was the grit between your teeth and the sun beating mercilessly down.
There was exactly one worthwhile place to stop for a bit, where the evaporating water from a tiny stream cooled down the environment by at LEAST 20 degrees)
To make things worse, we could see rafters about 100 yards away in the river. The cool, cool deep blue was so close, yet so far, and the happy splashing added a particularly sisyphean element to our suffering. The urge was to run the shade (since we could) and then walk through the hottest parts, but this meant that we’d spend even more time in the sun. We pooled our resources and kept marching on. (By now, I was eating SCaps with gusto…)
When we stumbled in, we thought the next aid station, Peachtree, would be an oasis. Instead, it looked like a triage camp. They had plenty of water, but were rationing ice (what?) and potatoes (WHAT????) The volunteers did what they could with ice water runoff on our heads (wonderful!) but it was not the welcome we were expecting. It was also amazingly remote. There was a guy there who wanted to drop. He was shirtless and listless sitting in a camp chair, but there was no way to get him out of there until the aid station was closed. When he got up to puke, we knew we had overstayed our welcome. To add insult to injury, we were now in danger of missing the cutoff (along with about half of the others) We’d have to sustain about a 16 minute pace for the next four miles to make it, a pretty daunting task.
But you always have to make time for electrolytes...
But we did it! We dragged ourselves through the bad patch. Once we smelled the barn, Meredith and I took off for the last mile or so and jogged it in. Mark and Levi were close behind. It was great to see Whitney, Ethan, and Kathryn. But unbelievably, there was the same issue at the next aid station: if you wanted to drop, you had to basically wait several hours or figure out how to get out of the canyon yourself. Thank goodness they had plenty of ice. I changed my clothes, popped my beer, and tossed down some coconut water. Every runner there looked dazed and shellshocked. In one of my favorite moments of the day, I offered some beer (Hell or High Watermelon!) to a gentleman with his head in his hands planning to drop. “Sure, why not, couldn’t make it any worse.” Ten minutes later, “Hey, can I have some more of that beer?” Ten minutes later, he was headed out of the aid station, and ended up finishing the 50 miler about five minutes behind me. I AM A FREAKING ANGEL OF MERCY.
This is Pat. He likes beer.
We reconvened and considered our options. Levi decided to call it a day (smart man) and not risk heatstroke before an international trip. Mark was on the fence, but he talked himself back onto the trail with the help of some ginger candy and shotblocks.
We forged ahead and before long came to the river crossing. Amazing. The water in the American river was 1-3 feet deep at this point, which sounds trivial, but was, in fact, terrifying. Thankfully, the race directors had strung a rope across the river and provided volunteers to carabiner us in. I look at the guy who’s roping me in and do a double take. It’s Gordy Ainsleigh, the freaking father of modern ultrarunning and the guy who invented the WS100 trail run. HOLY. CRAP. It’s all I can do to thank him for coming out, but I should have thanked him for being awesome and inventing this crazy, crazy sport. We clutched the line and slowly walked across the river. It felt AWESOME and super cold. But it also felt terrifying; without that line I would probably have been swept down the river to my demise.
But we made it across, and I said goodbye to Kathryn, Meredith, and Mark. Godspeed, guys. At this point, it turned into a normal race, if a hot one. We’d made a fantastic decision in taking the first climbs super easy. Our legs were tired, but not trashed! Some folks had to continue on from mile 35 on blown quads, but not us. There were some ups, downs, and flats, but I walk/ran them without incident on my own. There was a disgusting climb up to the finish line, but I was able to run the 1.5 miles in pretty darn quick thanks to my Hokas. I didn’t even need a light to finish as the sun was setting. It was actually pretty peaceful (if still hot) as the evening progressed. 13:45 when all was said and done, my slowest 50 mile by about an hour and a half, but a hell of a day. Super proud; I’ll take it!
Established trail...through these bushes!
No hands bridge
Highs and Lows:
Highs:
- Running with a posse for 35 miles and sharing this incredible adventure
- Seeing Ann Trason
- Seeing GORDY FREAKING ANSLEIGH
- Finishing strong, after miles in the sun and hours by myself
- The gorgeous Western States trails.
- Saving someone with a beer. Muahahaha.
- Having to pee at Rucky Chucky (Me to Meredith: I CAN PEE! Her reply: WAIT...ME TOO
Lows:
- Facing down an 80 degree packet of Vespa. I couldn’t. I just...couldn’t.
- Listening to someone who wanted to drop at Peachtree but couldn’t
- The convection oven between Forest Hill and Rucky Chucky
- Choking on dust for hours and hours
Now the big question: why?
I choose to interpret this question as: “If it sucks so much sometimes, why do you keep doing it?” There’s never just one reason, so I’ll just noodle on the mess: peer pressure, trying to attain a goal, trying to seek validity, proving I’m a badass mofo, and more. But at the core, I think I believe that suffering can be transformative.
OK, I know how that sounds; I’m not a masochist. I don’t think that suffering for suffering’s sake is a worthwhile endeavour. Nor do I particularly enjoy ALL of a difficult experience. But I do think that tackling challenges headon and staring the impossible in the face is an empowering, enriching experience. Pure stubborn pigheadedness can be trained, apparently. It’s going to be rough at times, but sometimes just powering through the pain cave brings people together and breaks down barriers, mental or physical. Annnnnnnd sometimes it gets you hurt. The trick is distinguishing between the two and that only comes from experience. There are excellent reasons to DNF, and when my day comes, I hope I’m smart enough to realize that “enough is enough.”
If road running can be distilled into the phrase “chasing PRs”, ultrarunnering can likewise be characterized by “seeking suffering.” I swear, half of the fun is doing crazy sh*t and then later bringing it up incessantly by saying “Yeah, this is bad, but it’s not as bad as the time that ______” (commence humblebragging)
So yeah, I love trail running. I don’t love every moment of it, but it’s pretty damn close.
Race critiques:
I was kind of shocked at the lack of direction from the top. I can understand aid stations running out of ice on a hot day and having to institute rationing, but not having a clear plan with a well established communication system to move out dropped/DNFed runners was kind of shocking. On the bright side, the course was the best marked that I’ve ever seen.
Takeaways:
It was a gnarly race. Even the race photographer described the scene as “carnage.” But hey, it happens. I ran with some great people and we treated it as an adventure. I got a great training stimulus for the Cuyamaca 100k (my A race, only 25 days away!) and a newfound appreciation for the Western States 100. I’m not any more excited for Western States, but that’s only because I think I maxed out earlier. I am super happy that I made some really good decisions including, but not limited to:
1. Stashing coconut water in my drop bags
2. Stashing extra hydration gear, lighting, and nutrition (e.g. ginger chews) “just in case”
3. Taking the ginormous early climbs super easy and having the muscle integrity at the end for kick
4. Hitting the hydration and electrolytes HARD and staying on top of both in brutal conditions
5. My gear is just right. I’ve got my loadout for my first 100k ready to go.
Onwards to Cuyamaca 100k and (oh please don’t let me get picked this year but I totally need to enter the lottery for) the Western States 100
David
Gear:
Hoka One One Stinson ATR
Ultraspire omega
Ultraspire omega
Ultimate Direction Body bottle
Pearl Izumi Sun Sleeves
CEP calf compression sleeves
Garmin Forerunner 310XT
Nutrition:
Vespa CV-25
Trail butter
Margarita shot blocks
EGel Cherry bomb
Lemon lime cytomax
Gin gins Ginger Candy
Coconut water
S Caps
